


A Dream Of Strangers

by keio, LochAndLoad



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A Song of Ice and Fire AU, Hanzo is a Yi-Ti prince, It's all Book AU, Jesse is a nobleman's bastard, M/M, Nothing from That Show will make its way here, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, There be dragons, We got mad at GoT and wrote this to cope, none of this is beta'd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 13:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19107625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keio/pseuds/keio, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LochAndLoad/pseuds/LochAndLoad
Summary: In the far Eastern land of Yi-Ti, the small hidden city of Hanamura is home to magic and beasts of every kind, including the famed Dragon Prince. A bastard-named sellsword no one cared for will change everything for them, and the kingdom.





	A Dream Of Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Kannibal: Season 8 is the worst  
> Loch: We should make it gay  
> Kannibal: 👀  
> Loch: 👀
> 
> And thus, this was born. Chapters will come when they come - we have more lore than plot atm, as well as other projects keeping us busy XD But spite is a powerful motivator! None of this has been seen by a beta, nor will it ever be, so apologies for any mistakes that get through.

Hanamura’s weekly market was bustling to the seams today, just as Hanzo liked it. Lost amongst the throngs of locals and travellers alike, he could become as invisible as the beggars on the street corners, weaving from stall to stall. He was on the hunt for a treasure, one that could not fall into any other hands.

Each stall promised exotic goods from all over the known world, trinkets of far away lands, and a mirror into journeys untold. Hanzo scanned each, knowing the lies from the truth. He could feel the gazes burning into his back as he melted into the crowds.

The tongue of Asshai caught his attention and brought him to a new stall, one declaring to hold the secrets of the Shadow Lands on its table. Hanzo made his way over to the pillowed prize that gleamed in his eye: four large stones glittered metallic in the sunlight, scales chiseled all over and shining like jewels of all colours. He ran his thumb over the red and gold stone, shivering as warmth seeped through his glove and he smiled.

Real dragon eggs.

The merchant watched with an eagle eye as he picked up the egg, turning it over carefully. He could still feel other’s in the distance, closing in. He had to act.

“Are these the only jewels you have?” Hanzo asked in Asshai’i.

The merchant nodded, leaning over to whisper in YiTish. “These are  _ extremely  _ rare. I was lucky to procure this many!”

A emboldened lie or the rambling of an idiot who had no idea of his possession. In Asshai, the likelihood of either was equally possible. Hanzo hummed, lips drawn tight in a straight line.

“Is that so? I’ve seen similar ones on this street, demanding piles of gold,” Hanzo put the egg down, resisting the urge to soak up the hatchling’s silent cries, and instead met the merchant’s dark gaze. “I love my daughters but I cannot spend all my coin on their gifts.”

The other man chuckled, understanding the torment Hanzo fabricated on the spot.

“I would not deprive such lovely girls of wonderful gifts! Name your price, good sir.” The merchant’s smile was too slick, lips stretched too thin. Hanzo fully expected his tongue to flash out to scent the air.

“Five gold marks.” He raised an eyebrow, daring the man to call him out on the low price; to lose his temper at the utter disrespect for his craft. Anything to dissipate the crawling under his skin.

“One and a piece for each? Sir, I have my own children to feed!” The laugh was strained, holding back at a toothed snarl. Hanzo felt his space close in, other bodies pressing too close for comfort. 

He laid a hand over his coin pouch and steeled his spine. He was one of the millions here, without any power but his own word to rely on; to secure what he  _ needed _ . He would not leave without every single egg this market foolishly sold.

“I do not have much coin to spare, seller. Surely we can come to an agreement.”

The merchant looked him up and down, lingering on the protected coin. Probably to estimate how far he could haggle without insulting his customer. A voice in the back of his mind (too familiar, too haunting) reminded him this was a waste of time, but he had to see this ruse through, lest unsavoury persons cast him with suspicion. 

“Fifteen gold marks.”

Hanzo scoffed loudly. “You are a thief. Nine.”

Shadowy eyes narrowed on him. Someone pressed a hand to the small of his back. 

“Thirteen.”

A peasant’s stench wafted around him. An elbow dug into his hip.

“Eleven.”

The merchant leant back into the dark of his stall, stroking his bare chin. Hanzo kept his arms at his sides, the string of his bow etching itself into the skin of his chest. How he wished to strike this hustler in his non-existent heart, just to free himself of this crawling torture threatening to burst through his itching skin. To escape the pressure caving in to his confidence.

“You drive a hard bargain, good sir.”  _ Hardly _ . “I will accept this price, and the knowledge of your children having such remarkable symbols of your love.”

The implications were enough to force Hanzo to smile again, reaching into his coin pouch. He was no father, yet this failed shadowbinder made him feel like a failure of one. How he made a living was a mystery Hanzo felt no need to delve into; let the man wallow and die in his spite. 

He made no show of digging around the rattling bag, pulling out the exact coinage and all but throwing it at the merchant. Without second thought, he pulled scarves out of his satchel and quickly wrapped the eggs up one by one. Their heat was scorching down to his blood and he held one high, its scales a brilliant white softened by grey edges.

“Iksā ȳgha sir.” He whispered to it, placing it beside its swaddled siblings in his bag.

The merchant was watching him again, curiosity leaking through the cracks of an uninterested facade. Hanzo curtly bowed his head to him, and left.

He could finally breathe again, away from the magics of Asshai and its shadows. But he still felt bodies around him, eyes following his every step, and a presence crushing his chest. He’d been out too long, away from his family. He had to get back to them before he whittled away to nothing.

Hanzo weaved through the people pushing against him, holding onto his satchel tightly as to not disturb the eggs further. Their familiar heat was a comfort, easing his panicked heart and quick breathing. He gripped the corner of a building when he reached it, curling into the empty space the alleyway provided him, though it didn't feel like it. 

Someone was watching him, far too closely. 

Hanzo straightened and glanced around, a hand drifting down to the dagger hidden in his belt. There was nothing out of the ordinary, nor anything he wouldn't suspect seeing on a market day. Just the ordinary people going about their mundane lives, unknowing of what was among them. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath.

"Drop them."

The fire turned into ice and froze him to a standstill. The slightest pressure tapped the back of his neck and he cursed himself for not protecting his blind spot. The sword tip digs into his skin and he dares a glance around.

More weapons and glares are drawn, but not enough for true concern. Three foolish men, probably from Yin if they have not recognised him this close up. The sword pierces skin and Hanzo growls.

“We said, _ drop them _ .”

A man slithered toward him from his right, dagger unsheathed and dirty fingers pointed to his satchel. He growls again.

“Give us the eggs and we’ll let you live.”

Another stepped forward, but no others revealed themselves. Hanzo kept still, barely restraining himself from baring his fangs at these dishonourable  _ thieves  _ who would dare take away  _ his  _ hatchlings. The two in front of him pushed him back into the alley and he allowed it; best not to cause a panic with the bloodshed.

He raised his arms and slowed his heart, flowing his blood with ancient magics. His tattoo sparked, and his spirit flared. 

Hanzo dropped down and swept his leg under the two thieves. The swordsman behind didn’t have a chance to react -  a dagger pierced his throat.

A thief yelled and jumped on Hanzo’s back. He dug his nails into their arm, snarled, and flipped them over to drive his elbow into their collarbone. They wailed in agony and Hanzo smirked, reaching back to grab an arrow.

“ **_Duck_ ** !”

Hanzo dived to the ground as a shadow fell over him, feeling the whip of wind barely miss his top knot. A body fell beside him and he caught sight of a bolt deeply lodged into the thief’s forehead, and an unused sword in their hand, before turning to the newcomer with a fresh dagger.

A dark figure stood against the light, making out a tall, thick silhouette armed with an empty, strangely designed crossbow pointed to the sky. Hanzo stared him down and he gulped loudly.

“I, uh… I’m not going to hurt you.” His YiTish was broken and worse than a milking infant’s. Hanzo cringed, narrowing his gaze. 

The man cursed under his breath, mumbling in other languages. A few words stood out to him, answering his questions.

“State your business, Westerosi.”

The man startled at his language and stepped back into the sunlight, revealing a very unexpected face.

“I saw those guys corner ya, but it looked like you had it handled ‘til that idiot tried t’ sneak back up on you.” He licked his lips and slowly put the crossbow down by his muddied boots. His brown eyes roamed over Hanzo as he did, never resting. He straightened and rolled his shoulders out, certainly  _ not  _ preening under this foreigner’s attention.

The accent wasn’t the one he expected (the tilted warble of King’s Landing) or fully recognised, but he appreciated it nonetheless. The rolling of the letters, along with his darker complexion and loose clothes were Braavosi without a doubt, but his ridged nose and bearded strong jaw were flawlessly of Westeros.

“Keep your hands up.” Hanzo ordered, tearing himself away from the stirring desires in his belly. The foreigner complied, with one hand in the air. “ _ Both _ of them.”

“Only got the one.” He shrugged his left shoulder, the entire side hidden by a clasped red cloak, and showed a haphazardly bandaged half-stump of an arm. No hand to be seen.

Hanzo nodded and the stump was hidden away again. He ran his fingers through his own trimmed beard and looked down at the mewling slump of a thief at his feet. The eggs were safe at his side, embers of gratitude warming the hip they rested against, spreading to his own heart. 

The stranger made no move, only watching Hanzo with a carefully concealed awe. He tucked away his weapons and dusted himself down - those brown eyes following as his ruddy face reddened. Hanzo couldn’t help but appreciate in return; the man had just saved his life after all, thus owing a debt like no other.

(He would be having a word with his escorts today…)

He couldn’t let this man walk away ignorant of his actions.

“Can you carry him?” Hanzo motioned to the thief’s body, raising an eyebrow. The foreigner looked down and hummed, pursing his lips. 

“Yeah, wouldn’t be hard.”

“Excellent.” Hanzo picked up the crossbow and walked past the stranger without a second glance. “Follow me.”

 

**0XX0**

 

Hanzo led the stranger - introduced as Jesse and nothing more - through Hanamura’s long, blossom sprinkled streets. He did not offer his own full name (not yet) and took the lack of conversation as a chance to study this Jesse further.

He was beyond capable and competent for him to be able to load and shoot his crossbow single-armed, but to also make it through the crowds unseen with it to come to his rescue. Hanzo could feel familiar gazes on them, avoiding his warpath back home; there was no need, he would find and skin them later.

Jesse didn’t break a sweat with the injured thief hauled over his good shoulders during the walk to the city’s centre. He looked around at the sakura trees, then went wide-eyed as the buildings grew taller and golder. Hanzo watched the awe and splendor grow too, letting his feet carry him on the wellworm path to home.

People began to appear as they neared, spotting him and his company. Jesse crept closer to Hanzo, standing tall under the stares and whispers of other strangers.

(He held back the questions of what business a Westerosi had being so far East for another time - one who could easily be a Knight - distracting himself by leaning into the scent of smoke and natural male musk Jesse extruded.)

As they approached the servant’s quarters attached to the gold palace, the escorts slid out of the shadows to bow to Hanzo and Jesse spoke again.

“Uh, don’t mean t’ be rude or nothin’,” Hanzo stopped at the servant’s gates, turning to face him properly. Jesse shifted on his feet, watching everybody else. “But where we goin’?”

“Into my home.” He answered curtly. He then glared at the escorts, who withered in place, and switched to YiTish. “You have greatly disappointed me today. Await in the council chambers.”

They bowed again and disappeared. Hanzo ignored Jesse’s look of confusion pointed at him and gestured to the gathered servants, ordering them to bring over the head guard for the new prisoner and to prepare the dining hall for a small meal.

Jesse was still staring at him, the wheels turning in his mind as he handed the thief’s aching body to the clamouring servants, leaving the two of them a little more alone than before.

“Who are you, really?” Jesse asked, his voice almost too quiet to hear. He rubbed his scarred stump with deft fingers, suddenly too small to fit into the space he occupied. His eyes never strayed, even as Hanzo handed off his prized crossbow to another servant.

I should ask that of you, Hanzo did not say. He only squared his shoulders, holding on tightly to the eggs, and stared into the bright soul he knew nothing about.

He’d learn soon enough.

“I am Prince Hanzo Shimada of Hanamura, and you saved our lives today,” Hanzo took off his bow and kneeled, holding onto his weapon like a sword in Westerosi fashion as he deeply bowed his head, almost missing how Jesse’s jaw dropped. “I owe a debt to you,  _ Ser Jesse _ , and I will do whatever it takes to pay it back tenfold.”

And he’d let nothing stand in his way.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, bookmarks and all are welcome! Let us know what you thought!
> 
> Check out my [tumblr](http://lochdandloaded.tumblr.com/) or us on [twitter](https://twitter.com/LochAndLoad) / [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kannibal) for extra art, AUs and ramblings. Or chat to me (LochAndLoad#1845) on discord! And


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